


this beast that you're after will eat you alive.

by lionlannister



Category: Narcos (TV), Narcos: Mexico (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Control, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Finale, Power Dynamics, Prison, Prison Sex, This got away from me, the amado/miguel is past sort of but also present?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22850257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionlannister/pseuds/lionlannister
Summary: What must it be like, to be from a country so dedicated to convincing its own people of its superiority? A place that lies, and lies, and lies at every turn and has the whole country fooled with their lies? At least México knows who their leaders are. “Do you think your people would thank you for what you’ve done if they knew the truth? I know México doesn’t.”
Relationships: Amado Carrillo Fuentes/Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo, Walt Breslin/Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49





	this beast that you're after will eat you alive.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the final scene in season two of Narcos: Mexico. based only on the fictional versions of these characters not any real people living or dead. also i mention it early on but assume all of miguel's dialogue is in spanish i just don't speak spanish and google translate is Very Bad. there may or may not be a follow up to this that's amado/miguel but we will see.
> 
> as always for the goldfish.

The next time the agent comes to see him Miguel has a black eye. From a guard who decided that his bribe wasn’t enough, he could’ve just asked and he would’ve upped the amount. But they get off on causing the prisoners pain when they can, and all of them know that Miguel is an open target. No protection, no backing, not even a weapon. Just himself and his money and the things he holds in his brain but can never say out loud. 

The agent, Breslin, Walt, doesn’t matter, has the sense not to ask about the injury but Miguel can see the way his hand clenches when he sees the extent of the bruising. Does he want to reach out, through the glass, and touch his bruise? Would be press until Miguel cried out or would he try and soothe his hurt? Just like his name it doesn’t matter. “Have you heard?” He speaks in English though Miguel knows he speaks Spanish, it makes him smile because his reason is so obvious on his face. His accent. It’s terrible, it rakes across Miguel’s ears like nails and the agent knows. 

So he uses English, speaks slower than he would normally to make sure that Miguel understands him. Miguel does not, will not, return the same favor. His responses are rapid-fire, with as much slang or dialect as he can fill it with. No reason to bother with the proper, high class Spanish he was forced to learn outside these prison walls. “About the shootout? In Juarez? Yes, I’ve heard. Little else to do here but talk. Gossip never stops in prison. A bit like school that way.” He tilts his head to the side, shrugs, and pretends he hadn’t listened with rapt attention to the news from the small tv in his cell. Amado was alive, that he knew, and many others were dead. “See, I was right, you should’ve given me a badge.” Though there had always been violence, would always be violence, the things happening now would never have been allowed under his watch. 

“What? You can’t control them from in here?” The American’s voice rises, angry, and Miguel’s smile only widens at that. Anger is so, so easy to use. It’s the last resort of a terrified man. Miguel is not afraid of his anger. Even if there were not glass between them, it’s not as though the man will kill him. No, that would be bad press for the great United States. An agent beating a prisoner to death? Heaven forbid. And the United States can never be seen as the villain in a story, no, that wouldn’t do. So, Miguel is not afraid of him. If someone is going to kill him it will be Rafa, and he doubts that he’ll fight back. 

To keep him on his toes, to let the agent know that he is not in control here despite the armed guard at Miguel’s back, he pulls the phone away from his ear and slams the top against the glass (plastic? Probably plastic, Miguel hasn’t bothered to touch it.) that separates them. He jumps at the noise it makes even though he had been watching Miguel closely. The guard looks at him sharply but when Miguel makes no further move he stays back against the wall. “Don’t get cruel, it doesn’t suit you.” 

It does, actually, but he’ll let the agent pretend he can be a good man sometimes. Though they both know that’s not true. No one who carries a badge can be a good man. “I told you what would happen, didn’t I? They’ll go to war and the streets will be so bloody you won’t even know what to do with it all.” A shrug like he doesn’t care what happens to these people, mostly he doesn’t, but more than that he’s beyond pretending now. The agent can see it in him, the way he no longer pretends to be a man. All that’s left is the beast he was always hiding. 

“What do we do now? What happens next?” The agent is desperate, Miguel wants to dance in his desperation, wants to ring it out of him like a towel, and never run out of it. 

He’s looking at him through the barrier like he’s a prophet like he really sees the future. Miguel had known he was telling the truth when he told the man that he would miss him, but seeing it in his eyes? Oh, that’s better than any drug he’s ever seen. (does anyone else miss him this way?) “Next? There is no next, Agent. It will be this way forever, and you have no one else to blame but yourself and your country.” The people would never know, but this man would, and it would haunt him until he died. 

Good.

“Is that all you came for? To learn how to stop this war? You can’t, you started it.”

\-------

The next time he comes is two days after Amado tries to visit him. Tries is perhaps not the word, he succeeds, Miguel can use money to make himself comfortable. Amado can do so much more now. He comes and sees him, he has nothing to say and Miguel refuses to give him the satisfaction of speaking first. So they’re silent until Amado leaves. Miguel misses him immediately. 

Which is why he wants to hurt the agent, to drive at his weakest points and keep making him bleed. Because he’s the person that will keep coming back. “I heard that one of your men got shot in the stomach. Terrible way to go.” He rests his hand under his chin, smiles in a mockery of any sympathy and laughs when the agent storms away from him. 

But he comes back just moments later, not even enough time for the guard to take Miguel back to his cell. “I knew you liked me, agent, what can I help you with now?” He asks him like he was gone for weeks, for even an hour, but the agent just glares at him as he inhales deeply, trying to regain whatever upper hand he thought he had when he’d shown up. And he only comes when he thinks he has an upper hand. 

Miguel lets him flounder for it for a moment before he grows bored of watching him. That’s been one of the oddest things about this transformation he’s undergone within these walls. Boredom. He used to be able to keep it at bay for months. Now it flashes down on him, strikes him like lightning at the slightest inaction. “Agent, did you know that the Sinaloan’s are throwing a party? Two weeks from today I believe. Now, this is not a suggestion that you go, trust me they would not tell me things like that if they believed that there was anything I could do to rat them out. That’s what I am, you see, a rat. So, all the gossip I hear, it’s only what they let me know because they believe I cannot do any damage. I would not suggest you go, either you’ll be killed or it will be a simple party. Nothing more illegal than some joints and a few lines. Boring, really.” He doesn’t know if what he’s saying is true, the party certainly is because Amado had told him about it, so maybe his dear old friend wanted him to tell the Americans, they must know that they come and see him. But what does it matter? Breslin goes, Breslin dies, and Amado wins. Breslin goes, Breslin lives, and nothing changes. 

Breslin. If they’re going to be friends he supposes he’ll use his name sometimes. “Do you know where it is?” The party, clearly, but no he doesn’t know. Only because Amado didn’t know. “Maybe I could send some people, get you that revenge you’re so hungry for.” Miguel stares at him for a long, long moment. He understands the words, knows what they mean, but doesn’t know how to reply to them. It’s the first time the man on the other side has managed to stump him. 

So he pulls the phone away again, only this time he doesn’t hit the barrier as he had before, he just holds it away from his ear as he thinks. Does he want revenge? Against who? Palma and Chapo? No, they hardly matter. There’s only one person that truly betrayed him and the agent, the Americans, the fucking PRI, are not allowed to touch him. “No. Maybe you should get some real spies to do your job.” He’s the one that walks away then, slams the phone down and barely waits for the guard to open the door before pushing his way through.

\------

“I heard a rumor.” The agent, Breslin, says the moment Miguel has the phone to his ear. Miguel rolls his eyes, of course, he’s heard rumors about him now. 

He waits, inhales. “Care to share?” He only asks because he knows the man wants him too and because he does not want to be alone again. He twirls the cord of the phone around his finger as he asks and waits, though he is not left waiting long.

Breslin’s eyes are practically glowing, it’s the happiest Miguel has ever seen him. “That you are Carrillo Fuentes had been screwing before you were arrested.” Well, that certainly was a surprise. How had that information come out? It would have more of an impact on Amado now than him. It wasn’t like men being together was uncommon in a prison. 

But, he would be lying if he said he liked that information being out there. His tongue presses at the inside of his bottom lip, he moves slightly in his seat, he wants a fucking cigarette. Amado is his. It does not matter that he betrayed him, if anything that makes him his even more. “Wonder how well that information would go over with some of your former associates? Do you think they would continue to back your boy? Former boy.” Miguel’s fists clench at that and if he didn’t have to hold the phone to his ear his arms would’ve crossed his chest. He wants to sink into himself. He wants to rip Breslin’s head from his shoulders. He wants Amado. Fuck, he wants to shot Amado in the head for putting him here.

“Well, I suppose that would depend.” He knows his anger is obvious, far too obvious, but he is beyond controlling it now. “Who would you tell? The PRI? They need his money. The other plazas? They move against him they start another war they cannot win. Cali? Please, you’re smarter than that.” He scoots onto the edge of his seat, glares, and cocks his head. Looking for all the world like one of those rangy wolves that run through Northern Mexico. “No, I think you’re going to keep that to yourself.” 

To Breslin’s credit he doesn’t flinch, he still looks pleased with himself. “Is that how you want to win? It’s not like you put me here. As you said, I was sold for a trade deal. Would you sell him for a rumor of sleeping with men? How very American of you.” He and Amado were careful, very careful, but it’s impossible to hide everything when the world’s superpower is keeping you under investigation. He won’t ask how they found out, won’t give Breslin the satisfaction of asking and will not tell anyone else. No one gets to take that part of his mind and dig at it. 

“That’s fair,” the agent smiles sadly, but he’s still practically floating with his new knowledge. It’s a weapon, something that he can point at Amado’s head and use to fire at will. Maybe one day the price of the war will be so much that Breslin will decide to use that weapon. “But, man, as rough as my life has been at least I’ve never been betrayed by a man that used to suck my dick.” 

Miguel does laugh then, loud and cruel, it’s the perfect response. “Then, Agent Breslin, I suspect you’ve never had good sex.” That seems to surprise the agent, so Miguel decides to dig further. If this man already knows, what’s the harm in giving him a little more ammunition? “You’ve never let someone into your bed knowing that they could kill you, that they might kill you. How sad.” Reaching out, Miguel touches the barrier between them with his hand for the first time, he doesn’t put his hand on it like he’s seen so many sad lovers do, no he traces one finger along the surface (it is plastic) and imagines the way he touched Amado once. “You should try it, I bet you’d like it.” 

Breslin swallows so loudly that Miguel thinks he can hear it over the phone, he can certainly see it. Ah, interesting. Miguel can’t say he’s surprised the man is interested but he didn’t think he would be so easy to crack. A little bit disappointing really, but still fun. It’s so freeing to be able to toy with someone this way. No threats that he has to rely on others to back up, no promises to be kept, nothing standing in his way. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Well, that’s true enough Miguel supposes. He knows his name, his agency, and the way his adams apple bobbed at the idea of fucking him. “I know that you want to be the good guy, you want someone to clap you on the shoulder and call you a hero. But you can’t have that.” He fakes a pout at that, leaning closer to the window between them. “And, if you looked deep inside, you’d see that what you really want is someone to tell you the truth.” Breslin licks his lower lip, runs a hand over his hair and looks back at him, expectant. “I’ll tell you the truth, agent, that’s why you keep coming back.”

Breslin nodded at that, at least willing to admit that much to himself. “Maybe, yeah, maybe. Or maybe I like coming here to watch you be miserable, to see what new bruise you’ve gotten. That one on your arm? Is it from a guard or another inmate? Oh, it’s gotta be rough to be in general population, right? With all those people that know you’re a rat and a snitch.” 

So the agent does have fire in his gut. Good. He was getting boring. Miguel smiled at him then, he doubted it looked even remotely kind. Lifting his arm up to the barrier he let the full extent of the bruis show. It was clearly a handprint. From a guard who dragged him out of his cell a few days ago. “This? Are you saying that the great United States of America is comfortable with abusing prisoners? Shocking.” Breslin only rolls his eyes at that but Miguel can see the hurt beneath the bravado.

What must it be like, to be from a country so dedicated to convincing its own people of its superiority? A place that lies, and lies, and lies at every turn and has the whole country fooled with their lies? At least México knows who their leaders are. “Do you think your people would thank you for what you’ve done if they knew the truth? I know México doesn’t.” 

They both know that’s true and there is no way that Breslin can pretend otherwise, so he doesn’t bother. “I know.” His voice is soft, sad, and Miguel watches him closely. Are those emotions real? Fake? He wonders how people can ever tell the difference. “I get that, maybe it’s why I come here.” Oh, so they’re doing honesty now? Emotional honesty at that, unexpected. And Miguel would rather claw his own throat out then admit that it sparks a small part of him that was buried the moment Amado walked out of that room. 

But, be that as it may, this man has not earned his openness about anything other than the devastation that is happening. Though he will not stop Breslin from sharing his. “You’re not my fucking therapist, man, but I guess I keep coming here for something. And you ain’t gonna tell me the names I need, so may as well make use of it.” That he says too quickly for Miguel to follow but he won’t ask him to repeat it, and the gist is clear enough. 

When he speaks again it’s in Spanish, Miguel rolls his eyes at the man’s accent but cannot deny it’s easier to understand him. “You’re right about one thing, I don’t think they would thank me. I know they wouldn’t.” Miguel nods at that, at least he’s not as stupid as most of the American’s he’s ever met. This one knows that his country is propped up by lies and bloodshed. “And so many people just think that we get to be the heroes. They have no idea.” 

Does he expect pity? No, he mustn't he’s too smart for that. 

“You could tell them, let them know what their heroes are really like. What they really do. I’ll help, give a statement.” Miguel can’t ever speak about what he knows about his government, but that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten the role the United States played in putting him here. 

Breslin glares at him and it looks so petulant he’s suddenly reminded of Isabella. He flinches at the sight. The first movement like that he’s ever shown the agent. “We’re done for the day. Come back again, Agent Breslin.” He has to leave, has to get out of there, he can’t see Amado in the way he seems to read a room, Isabella in the way he glares at him, Miguel cannot bear that right now.

The guard grabs his arm and pushes him through the door out of the visiting room before Breslin even has time to think about what happened.

\-----

The next time he comes, well, the next time Miguel wanted to prove he still had the upper hand despite being the one locked up. He still has money which is more than enough to get what he wants from certain guards, at least sometimes, and this is one thing he can do. He can get a conjugal room. It didn’t even cost that much, though Miguel supposes his income flow is now compromised. (He wonders, wonders in the most traitorous part of his newly freed up mind, if anyone would send him money if he needed it. Amado? No, he doesn’t dare hope. But he wonders.) 

He has no interest in touching this man today, or letting himself be touched. Mostly, he wanted to see what Breslin would do when he was led into a private room with him. Breslin finds him leaning against a wall on the other side from the bed, he wants to tease him, but not that much. “Agent, don’t get too excited, they’re listening to everything we say and I am not willing to die for you.” Sex wouldn’t kill him, well, probably not, but there is too muc information in his head for him to talk freely with this man. He can give predictions, ideas, but after last time they can both admit what they want from each other.

The truth. Something to sharpen their claws on.

“Yeah, trust me, you’re not my type.” Breslin almost sounds like he believes those words, but he can’t pretend that he hasn’t thought about it. Miguel can see it now. How he thinks Miguel would get on his knees for him, like he thinks Miguel would let him take what he wants from him without demanding anything in return. That, more than anything, is a sign that he is not ready for Miguel to take him to bed. Amado always knew that touching Miguel came with a cost, and he continued to come to him when he called. “I like curves. Y’know.” He’s floundering as he makes his way into the room. Refusing to settle on the bed, just as Miguel had done, but the room is not large and so he’s forced to lean against the other wall, just a foot or two in front of Miguel. 

Miguel laughs at that, a loud and sharp noise that has no place in this room but it’s the only type of laugh he has now. Maybe it’s the only kind he ever had. He sometimes feels more himself here than he ever did outside of prison, there’s nothing for him to strive for here except keeping himself alive. The empire is out of his hands, split into a million little parts, and he had to watch it all crumble to dust in his hands. He has nothing left to lose or gain. Maybe that’s freedom. 

“Agent, I would not let you into my bed if you offered me an immediate ticket out of here.” That dances somewhere between the truth and a lie. It is not Breslin that he needs to be able to appease to get his life back, but if he thought the man really knew what it meant to take him to bed he may consider it just for fun, just for the way it would make Breslin hate himself even more. 

“But you’ll take Carrillo Fuentes?” The question is so quick, so confident that Miguel isn’t even sure if he’s aware he asked. 

His reaction is instantaneous. So much of his life has been about composure, about a lack of action, about waiting and planning and letting other people act. It doesn’t have to be that way anymore. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Miguel’s reaction is to shove himself from the wall behind him and land with his hands on either side of Breslin’s head, to lean in close, his lips just a breath away, and stares at him. “Yes, I took him into my bed. Many, many times.” 

Their bodies are so close that Miguel can feel the heat from Breslin’s body and the way his breath catches in his lungs. He licks his lips, leans back against the wall, and clenches his fists at his sides, as though he’s trying to stop himself from reaching for Miguel’s waist. “And you, Agent Breslin, are not ready for that. You still think that you have goodness in your chest that cannot be taken from you. I don’t want to play with someone so naive.” If he were to touch another person it would be someone that knew who they were, what it meant to know that you were not a good person. Any chance of goodness needs to be taken away so that they can know the truth of each other. 

He is not a good man, he has never been a good man. María had thought that he could put the monster back in the closet. Isabella had wanted his monster to match her own, to be the kind that would protect each other. Amado alone had known what he was. Perhaps Breslin could figure it out if he let himself realize the depth of his own rage and cruelty. No one that works for law enforcement is innocent, especially not from the United States. Breslin knows that but knowing accepting is different. Once he accepts, maybe then Miguel will give him what he is currently denying he wants. 

A switch flips in the agent’s eyes and he moves just as quickly as Miguel had when he stalked towards him. Reaching out he does not grip at Miguel’s hips, does not grab him at all, instead he shoves. Shoves with enough force that Miguel is pushed back into the wall, his shoulders hitting hard enough that there is a noise certainly loud enough to be heard outside the door. Considering the rooms purpose Miguel doubts anyone will care. And it brings a smile to his face. “Finally, the agent shows some fucking spine.” The words are a snarl and they’re met with another shove, this time cause his head to hit the wall. Not hard enough to do enough damage, though he suspects that’s more because he was already close to the wall. If Breslin wanted to really hurt him there is little to stop him, certainly not the guards. “Why not kill me, Breslin? You could get away with it. No one in Mexico would stop you, in fact the PRI might give you a medal.” And that medal would mark him even further. 

Kill the villain and become the new one.Get rid of one monster knowing you’re now in league with bigger beasts. 

Which is why Breslin won’t kill him. Not because Miguel deserves to live but because it would bloody his hands too much for him to bear. At least for now. 

Breslin’s hands on his shoulders tighten, hard enough to bruise, and Miguel does not shove him away. “They would, bet I’d get a promotion too.” His smile is more teeth than anything else and Miguel feels more drawn to him then he ever has before. This is what he wants, this man, the one that could kill him or see him with blood on his skin and not flinch away. Brutality and desire seem to go hand in hand for him now. At least now he gets to be up front about it.

Unlike Breslin, Miguel does not feel the need to hold himself back from what he wants, so he reaches out and puts a hand on his waist and digs his fingers into the fabric of his shirt, it’s not enough to leave a mark on his skin but it’s close. It’s a sign of the damage he would do because if Breslin were to pull away his shirt may be ripped apart. “Come back to me when that idea doesn’t scare you so much.” Instead of tugging he pushes, pressing with just enough strength to make enough space for him to move past Breslin. 

The guard smirks at him as he opens the door for Miguel. “I’ll be sure to let Carrillo Funetes know about your visitor.” Miguel’s eyes roll as he walks away from the man, not bothering to reply. He is sure that Amado knows everyone who comes to see him, everyone who calls him, everyone who so much as looks at him. But, if he wanted to do something about it that was up to him. 

\-----

He half expected the agent to never come back. He looked Miguel in the face, saw the truth of himself, and was left alone in a room. Miguel has treated people he cared about far more, far worse and they came back to him but the agent was made of weaker stuff. The kind of soul that can only come from living in as broken a place as the United States, a brokenness that hides itself with patriotism and violence against others. It makes you weaker in the face of the truth. But, the agent surprises him. He comes back. Not quickly. It’s nearly two months later but he does come back. Miguel can be patient when he needs to be, he waited his whole life to be king of something. He’ll wait for this little distraction too. Not forever, but for a little while.  
“You told me something, to come back when I wasn’t afraid of what killing you would do.” That’s one way of putting his words, he had meant the killing more metaphorically then literally but, really, it worked either way. Killing Miguel meant slitting his throat, shooting him in the head, it meant taking him to bed. Above all it meant knowing that when he touched Miguel it wouldn’t be just Miguel that brought blood into the bed. Breslin came with his own. Killing Miguel was knowing that he was already a killer. 

Miguel tilted his head slightly from his position against the wall, the same place he’d been when he left Breslin here. “Is that how you’re telling me you’ve come to kill me? I do believe they took your gun at the desk, so how will you do it? Strangle me? Beat me to death? I think you’d like that, seems like you’re the type of man that thinks he can rely on his own two hands for dirty work.” He’s just trying to provoke him, he wants to see what Breslin will do in anger with no walls stopping him. 

“Or, did you come here to tell me that you want to stay afraid?” 

Breslin laughs, shakes his head, and rubs his hand over his eyes. “No, did you know I got a medal and a certificate for helping to arrest you? But they knew, they always knew, that the only reason the PRI turned you over was for NAFTA.” 

NAFTA. That’s what they call it. Miguel rolls the acronym over his tongue, these letters that spelled his doom as much as they spelled trade. He wonders what it tastes like to other people? Do they smell blood and metal when they say the word? He doubts it. At least not the normal people, the civilians in the United States. But for Breslin? For him it means, what? More lies with a pretty bow? “So? I’m hardly the person to tell you that it was all worth it. It was a deadly lie that they used to control you, me, and everyone else in these countries. It will make a lot of men very wealthy. But not us.” Miguel was motivated by money, power, but Breslin seems to think that there should be something more. “That’s all they care about.”

A DEA agent is surely not naive to that truth, though Miguel is willing to grant him that being the face of that corruption must bring a new awareness. Did boys in the United States grow up believing that joining law enforcement was the right choice? That they would truly do any protecting? How innocent and terrible it must be to realize that the country you serve has committed more atrocities then can be counted and you are now a part of that machine. 

“Fuck you, you think I didn’t know that?” The anger is rising in him again and this time he seems less likely to control himself, he moves towards Miguel with intent. “I just want to do something fucking real, I don’t even give a shit what it is anymore.” He wants something to dig his fingers into that is flesh and blood, something that shows the bruises and the cuts instead of ignoring them or covering them up with pretty words. 

Maybe it was the sight of the bruises on Miguel’s skin that first turned him on, the knowledge that any damage done to him is clear and obvious. His bloody hands are facing the sun. “Come here, agent,” his voice is soft, almost gentle, but he knows that’s a lie and what is the point of this if he lies? This is supposed to be about the truth. “I’m not going to get on my knees for you, never will.” Breslin nods at that, it doesn’t seem to surprise him. Miguel has only gotten on his knees for one man, and even then only when it suited his needs. 

His head cocked to the side as he watched Breslin fiddle with his own hands, trying to find something to say. Miguel ends his suspense by taking the initiative from him, putting a hand on the agent’s shoulder to push him down onto his knees. An American agent on his knees for a Mexican cartel leader? The man the United States hated so much they wouldn’t trade with Mexico until he was locked up. It was fucking poetry. “Show me how much you want to touch something real.” Miguel puts him on his knees for another reason, he does not want to kiss him and he knows the desperate pleading look in the other man’s eyes. He would’ve tried to go for his lips and Miguel was certain he would gag or hit him if he managed it. That was not for him, never would be. 

Breslin goes down so easily, so prettily, that Miguel nearly pulls him up to make him do it again. There will be time for that later. The way Breslin opens his pants and pushes them down makes Miguel all but certain he’s done this before, at least he’s thought about it a lot, because there is no fear in his touches or pausing when he faced with another man’s cock. “Agent, look at me, tell me the truth,” he waits until Breslin’s eyes are turned up towards him before asking his question, “have you sucked another man’s cock before?” He wants to know, Breslin knows about Amado, though he certainly does not understand the depth of it, and Miguel hates when anyone, anyone, has power over him that he cannot match. 

He sees the moment that Breslin realizes he wants to tell the truth, it’s a dangerous thing to ask of a man with a badge. His life, his career, would be ruined if this ever got out. But Breslin had been comfortable using his own past against him, he could get a knife to the gut, Amado could get a bullet to the head if that information went to the wrong people. “Yes. My partner.” He doesn’t say a name and Miguel does not push him too, if he wants to find out who it was that would be easy enough. So few of these men walked away from the ambush that Amado had planned. 

Miguel reaches out with one hand, cupping the back of his head as he nods. But his gentle touch doesn’t last for long, instead he digs his nails into the back of his neck and pulls him forward. “Make me hard, Agent Breslin.” 

And he does, he sets to his task like the trained American agent he is. Buts just as much work into getting Miguel hard as his country has put into destroying anyone in their way. He uses his hands first, and there is nothing gentle in the way he strokes Miguel, it’s fucking perfect. 

When he takes Miguel into his mouth, Miguel tosses his head back against the wall. It’s been so long since someone touched him, and he doesn’t feel the need to hold back in his reactions. “Yes, just like that.” There wasn’t much hair for Miguel to grab onto, not at all what he’s used to, so he moved a hand down to the back of his neck, leaving crescent shaped marks in the skin, maybe even drawing blood. They wanted the truth and so there could be nothing gentle between them. 

They stand for a war that brews under the surface of their countries. Tied together. Fighting each other. In the end probably the death of one another.

Miguel’s other hand comes down to Breslin’s head, holding him where he is so that he can thrust into his mouth, seeking his own release and showing him the truth of what being with Miguel is like. It is not give and take. It is take, take, and take until there is nothing left he wants. But he never lets himself drift from the truth of this moment, the truth of the man sucking his cock. If he closes his eyes he’ll see another man and he refuses to give into that desire. So his eyes are open, even when they’re on the ceiling above him, they’re open, and he sees Agent Walt Breslin on his knees. Short hair, pale skin, and his enemy. 

It’s that through, this he is an enemy, that he should have a gun in his hand, and that Amado would be furious, that causes him to finish. He does not warn Breslin, nor does he complain when the man pulls away and spits out. The cleaning person will likely spread the rumors of what they found in this room. “Get up, Breslin.” This time he doesn’t comply quite so quickly but eventually he does and Miguel looks in his eyes as he reaches over to scrape his thumb across his mouth. “I won’t ever kiss you.” 

“Good. I don’t want you to.” 

He paints a smile on his face, runs his fingernail across Breslin’s jawline, and pushes himself towards the door. “Are you seriously going to leave me here? Like that?” The genuine frustration in Breslin’s voice is the funniest thing he’s heard in years. 

Yes, of course he’s going to leave him here. “Did you think that I would get you off just because you did it for me? Please, I’ll touch you when I want to, when I think you deserve it.” He shuts the door behind him and the guard doesn’t even look at him, surely he had heard the noises Miguel was making inside the room.

“Make sure you tell your boss about this, he’ll certainly want to know.” God, he hoped Amado would hear about this. Hope it makes his blood boil.


End file.
